“I spent most the last six months back and forth between three out-of-town jobs.”
“And I had my head down, trying to establish a new business.” Sawyer laughed. “Until—”
“You looked up just in time to get a bag of manure in the kisser,” Beck finished for her with a hearty chuckle.
“Not the first time, I doubt the last. Though the circumstances were unique.” She picked up one of the menus tucked behind the salt and pepper shakers. “Let’s order.”
“We’re staying for dinner?”
“You have someplace else to be?” Sawyer looked up. “Besides, you haven’t mentioned your business proposition.”
Until she reminded him, Beck forgot the reason for their meeting.
He settled on the breaded pork; Sawyer opted for salmon. Together, they decided to share a bottle of chardonnay. The atmosphere between them stayed light and easy, but the conversation took a professional turn.
“You up for making money?” Beck asked.
“Always.” Sawyer’s answer was quick and definite.
“Then here’s what I have in mind.”
CHAPTER SIX
♫~♫~♫
BECK POURED HIMSELF a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice. As comfortable in his mother’s kitchen as his own, he leaned against the counter while she finished scrambling some eggs. He stopped by for breakfast at least once a week because he was her only child, she was a great cook, and best of all, he liked her company.
Sandy Kramer prepared a meal the same way she did everything in life, with a unique mixture of joy and ruthless efficiency. Little brought her down for long. Not losing her husband at an early age, nor the prospect of raising their son alone with no family to help and no money in the bank to cushion her fall.
Beck often wondered how his mother negotiated the early days—early years. She always brushed off his questions with a shrug or a laugh and by the time he was old enough to notice if anything was amiss, they were doing just fine. He never wanted for anything important whether a new pair of shoes or her undivided attention.
If asked, Beck would never call Sandy Kramer a saint; her jokes were too bawdy, her patience for fools nonexistent. But in his eyes—the eyes of an adoring son—she was as close to owning a golden halo as any human could get.
“Sawyer agreed to join forces?” Sandy asked as she buttered a piece of hot toast.
“On a trial basis.” Beck retrieved a couple of plates from the cupboard. “She’s eager to expand her business but doesn’t want to push ahead too fast. Sawyer suggested she landscape the Johannsen place as a test case.”
“Cautious. Best way to be, especially when first starting out. I knew she was the right choice.”
Sandy brushed a hand through her stylishly bobbed, red hair. Barely twenty when she gave birth and now pushing fifty, she embraced her age while always thinking young. Beck inherited his father’s build, sandy blond hair, and gray eyes. But his ambition and dogged determination came directly from his mother.
“When we decided to partner up with a landscaper, Sawyer was first on your list.”
“And last,” Sandy said with a firm nod.
Beck still had his doubts. He liked Sawyer. A lot. Still, one evening spent getting to know her over dinner and a shared piece of Chocolate Sin Cake meant she was good company, not necessarily good at her chosen profession.
Yes, she proved to have a sharp mind and quick sense of humor. But could she properly budget and deliver on a landscaping job? Beck’s instincts said yes. His practical side said don’t get ahead of yourself.
The Johannsen job was small but fraught with potential problems. Sawyer would need to maneuver past the pitfalls, keep her costs down, and satisfy the customer; not easy for someone with experience, let alone a woman still getting her feet wet.
“Why do you believe in her?”
Beck took a seat at the kitchen table. The question was one he’d asked himself several times since saying good night to Sawyer with an oddly awkward handshake. He didn’t have a definitive answer. Maybe his mother would.
Handing him a filled plate, Sandy took her seat. She placed a napkin in her lap and took a drink from her cup of coffee.
“I knew she was the right choice when we met at last month’s townhall meeting. Acting Mayor Asshat—”
“Argyle,” Beck corrected with a chuckle.
“Whatever,” Sandy grumbled.
His mother, a diehard liberal, and the mayor, an entrenched conservative, did not see eye to eye on anything. Dick Argyle had the job because as deputy mayor, he stepped in when the woman elected left office due to illness. Sandy counted the days until they could vote someone in who was qualified to serve the entire town, not just his rich, over-privileged cronies.
“He wanted to rezone the Myer’s Park area—where children and families play—to allow a strip club to operate across the street. Sawyer arrived with a solid, well-researched argument, and a petition with over ten thousand signatures—including Asshat’s wife. The final vote wasn’t close.”
“Smart,” Beck said. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Because you didn’t ask.” Sandy shrugged. “Sawyer knows how to get things done. Wait and watch. She’ll hit the Johannsen job out of the park.”
Beck was firmly on Sawyer’s side, metaphorical pom-poms poised to cheer her on. However, if she wound up over her head, their newly formed friendship wouldn’t earn her preferential treatment. Beck would cut ties in a heartbeat, and she’d be out on her shapely ass. After all, his reputation was on the line.
“She was married.”
“She?” Beck asked, frowning at the sudden change of subject.
“Sawyer. I wondered if you knew.”
“How would I?” The crease between his brows deepened. “She didn’t tell me.”
“I’m not surprised.” Sandy nibbled on a crisp piece of bacon. “Sawyer isn’t the type to share something so intimate with someone she barely knows.”
“How did you find out?”
“Gossip,” Sandy explained without an ounce of shame. “You know the routine. Small-town rumor mills never sleep. A young woman who opens a business by herself makes her automatic fodder. Since she arrived, Sawyer’s history, new and old, has been at the epicenter of every coffee klatch in town.”
Beck wasn’t surprised. Annoyed, but not surprised.
“Why haven’t I heard anything?”
“Because you, my darling boy, turn your nose up at rumormongering.” Sandy patted his hand. “And your public meltdown a few years ago made some people leery about sharing gossip.”
In Beck’s estimation, grabbing a jackass by the shirt, lifting him off the ground, and reading him the riot act didn’t constitute a meltdown. More like justifiable outrage over a snidely worded question concerning his ex-friend and current superstar Jaxon Cross and another member of Razor’s Edge, Skye Monroe.
When a knuckle-dragging drunk loudly, publicly, and crudely speculated if Skye had serviced Jax and the rest of the band at the same time, Beck lost his usual cool, proving even nice guys have their limits.
Beck couldn’t control what people said behind his back, but they should have the good sense to contain their nasty comments until he’s well out of earshot.
“Has anyone bothered Sawyer?”
“Down, boy,” Sandy cautioned with a mother’s indulgent smile. “She’s a strong woman, Beck, fully grown and from what I’ve witnessed, sporting sharp claws and a sharper tongue.”
Beck didn’t argue because he knew his mother was right. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t stand up for Sawyer if necessary. Just part of his wiring.
“You want to know about Sawyer’s husband?” Sandy raised an eyebrow. “All you have to do is ask.”
“Fine. Tell me,” Beck sighed. “Please.”
“His name was David Hale. He and Sawyer married young; she was only nineteen. High school sweethearts from what I unders
tand.”
David Hale had to be Sawyer’s right guy, the one she said came along and convinced her to start dating. Shadows filled her eyes when she mentioned him. Beck wondered what happened.
“He was killed in Afghanistan.”
“Son of a—” Beck scrubbed a hand over his face. “She’s grieving.”
“And always will to some extent.” Sandy spoke from experience. “Time dulls the pain, but the love never dies.”
“Is that why you never remarried? Because you still love Dad?” Beck always wondered. He hadn’t known how to ask before now.
“I haven’t found another man who made me want a ring on my finger. If he came along, I’d say yes.”
“Good,” Beck said. “You deserve to be happy.”
“I am.” Sandy smiled. “I think Sawyer is too.”
Sawyer was a ray of sunshine. But even the sun encountered the occasional cloud.
“I hear Sawyer’s mother-in-law is a problem.”
“How do you mean?”
Finished eating, Sandy placed her plate in the dishwasher. Beck did the same. He wiped the table while she cleaned the counter.
“The details are sketchy,” she said. “All I know is the woman lives in Los Angeles, but she drops in on Sawyer every few weeks. The visits are not friendly.”
As Beck drove through town, he had to admit the little his mother knew about Sawyer’s mother-in-law left him curious to know more. But if Sawyer wanted to tell him what was going on, she would.
Until then, he had more than enough work to keep him busy.
CHAPTER SEVEN
♫~♫~♫
IN HIS YOUNGER days, barely nineteen and on the road with Razor’s Edge, Beck’s biggest worry was how he and his friends would scrounge up enough gas money to get them to the next town, to their next gig. Most nights, they slept in their rusty old van, now and then splurging on the luxury of a shared motel room.
They lived on fast food, laughed their asses off over flat tires, and enjoyed the charms of an endless string of young women without an ounce of regret or a niggle of conscience.
Ten years ago, Beck didn’t hope for the best. He knew, in his heart, in his soul, Razor’s Edge would succeed. And he was right. In fact, they soared to dizzying heights. However, if he’d known how hard the fall to earth would be, if he had an inkling of the pain and bitterness to come, he…
Wouldn’t change a thing. Beck bent to tie his running shoe, filling his lungs with crisp, clean, morning air, and smiled. Sometimes the only way to learn was to jump in blind. He survived a massive case of ignorance and stupidity and came out the other side wiser. As for smarter? Lord, he hoped so.
One good thing to come from those days was his dedication to keeping fit. The routine of running, working out, and watching his diet began as he tried to put some muscle on his naturally skinny frame, pushed on him by Morgan Ames, health nut and one-time bandmate/best friend.
Didn’t work, not then. After Razor’s Edge ended, even without Morgan to kick his lagging ass, Beck continued without thinking too much about why. Habit, he supposed. Now, his body carrying almost thirty extra pounds of pure muscle, he ran almost every morning.
Beck embraced the solitude; a chance to take some time for himself before jumping into a jam-packed day.
Zipping his hoodie to his neck, defense against the cool breeze, he glanced at his running mate.
“Ready?”
Ringo, a rescue dog of indeterminant paternity whose absolute devotion to Beck was returned ten-fold, wagged his bushy brown and white tail.
“Then let’s go.”
Leash laws stated all dogs must be tethered while out and about. Beck ignored the rules. Ringo spent the first three years of his life confined in a box; he deserved the chance to romp and feel the sun on his face as often as possible. If some hardnosed asshole decided to turn them in, the reward of seeing his friend run free was worth any fine the city deemed appropriate.
Because Beck knew Eatonville like the back of his hand, every road, cross street, and alleyway burned into his brain, the route they followed was never the same. He liked to mix things up and Ringo, never one to stray far from his human, agreed. The goal was to hit five miles, work up a good sweat, and avoid falling into a boring routine.
Today, Beck headed toward the center of town. As he and Ringo jogged past Myer’s Park, he was reminded of Sawyer’s efforts against the mayor to keep the area kid and family friendly. She identified a problem and found a solution, proving she was smart and a woman of action.
Cutting across the deserted playground, Beck was surprised to see another runner doing the same. At such an early hour, he rarely crossed paths with anyone—especially another exercise aficionado.
As the person approached, Beck recognized her instantly; she was hard to miss. Dressed head to toe in neon purple was none other than the woman who’d occupied so much of his thoughts during the past week. Sawyer Hale.
“Hi.” She slowed, her lips curving into a smile. “Fancy meeting you here. And with such a handsome companion.”
“Sawyer, meet Ringo.”
Never one to pass up the chance at a potential belly rub, Ringo whined a hello before rolling to his back, paws pointed toward the sky.
“He’s shameless,” Beck said.
“He’s adorable,” Sawyer laughed.
Beck shook his head. If he pulled such an obvious ploy for affection, he’d be labeled a menace to society. But put him on all fours, covered in fur with perpetual puppy dog eyes and a goofy grin, and the world fell at his feet.
Or in Sawyer’s case, fell to her knees as she accommodated Ringo’s unquenchable need for attention. At her first scratch, he practically melted into the grass.
“I thought about getting a dog, now that I’m settled into one place.”
“Where did you live before landing in Eatonville?” Beck asked, hoping Sawyer would fill in some of the holes his mother’s gossip mill couldn’t.
“All over.” Giving Ringo a final pat, she rose to her feet. “I had a home in Los Angeles for a few years, but…”
“Not enough room?”
“Plenty. Trouble was my roommates. I wanted a mutt; they insisted on a purebred.” Sawyer shrugged. “Just as well. I started moving around, never in one spot very long. A dog deserves a settled home, something I wasn’t ready to give.”
Rather than fill in the holes, Sawyer’s words opened several new ones—big and gaping. Beck had a dozen questions which he was sure would lead to a dozen more. Since she didn’t seem in the mood to elaborate, he settled on a less intrusive subject.
“You gave Archie a job.”
“Skateboard boy?” Grinning, Sawyer nodded. “I needed help around the nursery. He did such a good job cleaning up the mess he caused—and stayed longer than necessary to help Talia restock some shelves, I decided to give him a chance.”
“And?”
When Ringo butted his head against Sawyer’s hand, she automatically stroked the dog’s head as she answered Beck’s question.
“Archie has exceeded my expectations. Conscientious, always on time, and a hard worker. Things he learned from you.”
Surprised, Beck frowned.
“Who says?”
“Archie,” Sawyer told him. “The boy has a serious case of hero worship. Well-earned, from what I hear around town.”
Gossip. Beck sighed. Unfortunately, because of the information he gleaned via his mother, his moral high ground on the subject had turned into a slippery slope.
“The kid’s father was M.I.A. before he was born. Giving him a little advice now and then is the least anyone would do.”
“Anyone wouldn’t step in when the high school decided to cut the music program. You picked up the slack, donating your time and money, three days a week after school. More when necessary. From what I understand, if a kid asks, you can’t say no.”
Hearing the details from Sawyer, he could under
stand why she was impressed by his selfless deeds. In truth, Beck’s decision to step in and teach music turned out to be the most selfish thing he’d ever done.
Initially, many of his students showed up because they were impressed by his ex-rock star credentials. Some left when they discovered he was there to teach, not regale them with stories about his former hedonistic lifestyle. The ones who stayed truly wanted to learn.
In return, they gave Beck something he thought lost to him forever—a renewed passion for playing, singing, and writing music.
Beck wasn’t comfortable talking about his part in nurturing young minds. However, he could go on for hours about his class and their accomplishments.
“They wrote an original musical, composed most of the music themselves.”
Sawyer gently tugged on Ringo’s ear—a favorite spot of his.
“When can I buy tickets?”
Beck relaxed, happy Sawyer had understood his desire to give credit where credit was due. To his students.
“With a little tweaking and a lot of hard work, the plan is to mount a production next fall.” Beck felt a surge of pride. “They’re talented.”
“Maybe they have a good teacher?”
“Maybe,” he conceded. “But I can only motivate them so much. The only way to improve is to practice away from class.”
“Like you did?” Sawyer asked. “How many hours did you pound the drums until you perfected your style?”
“No such thing as perfection.” Beck still had the callouses from hours of gripping a pair of drumsticks to prove his point. “My mother never complained. You’d have to ask her how many sets of earplugs she went through.”
“She encouraged you to follow your dream.”
The conversation had veered into dangerous territory. Next, Sawyer would ask about Razor’s Edge. He enjoyed talking to her. Rather than end on a sour note, he changed the subject.
“How are things going on the Johannsen job?”
“Mind if we jog while we talk?”
Sawyer took off before Beck could answer. He followed her and her bouncing ponytail, Ringo at his side, catching up with ease as his long legs ate up the gap created by her speedy exit. Pleased by her brisk pace, he settled in, matching her stride for stride.
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